


Malaise

by mithrel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates being sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malaise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sycophantastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycophantastic/gifts).



Dean’s miserable. He hates being sick. Injured, yeah, no problem, goes with the territory, even though waiting weeks for his broken arm to heal or whatever is a royal pain in the ass.

But he can’t deal with being sick.

It leaves Sam without backup, for one thing.

Well, he’s got Cas. Or, rather, he _should_ have Cas.

_“We have to get this thing now or we’ll have to wait another ten years, Dean._ ” 

“ _I_ know, _” he groaned. “Take Cas for backup.”_

_Sam darted a look at Cas, who looked ashamed. “Someone needs to look out for you.”_

_Dean snorted. “Dude,_ I’m _not the one who needs looking out for.”_

_“I’ll be fine, Dean.” ___

_“I would be of minimal use to Sam in my…condition. I am not familiar with human weapons. My time would be better spent here."_

“Fine,” _Dean growled, and pretended to go to sleep._

He can’t worry much about Sam though. They don’t have a thermometer, but Dean can _feel_ the heat radiating off himself, can tell by the light, nauseous feeling that he’s got a high fever.

Something cool drips onto his face. “Wha–” He tries to open his eyes, but there’s a weight on them. He reaches a heavy hand up. _Washcloth,_ he realizes, after too long a moment.

The cool water is already drying out, the washcloth turning warm. The covers feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. Dean struggles to push them off, relieve the furnace heat.

Someone…Cas…pulls the covers back up.

“’M hot,” Dean complains.

“You’re shivering,” Cas returns. He takes off all but the sheet, stops Dean when he tries to get rid of that too. “Leave it.”

“ _Caaaas!_ " Fuck, he’s whining. He _hates_ being sick.

Cas sighs, then there are hands helping him to sit up, a glass pressed to his lips. Dean gulps the cold water thirstily. Some part of him knows it’s not really cold; he’s hot.

Cas takes the water away after a second, removes the cloth. Dean hears water running in the bathroom, feels Cas’ presence back at his bedside a moment later. A hand brushes back the hair sticking to his forehead. Dean swears he feels lips there a moment later, but it must be the fever.

“Sleep, Dean,” Cas says, replacing the cloth.

Dean sighs. He is tired. But he’s afraid of the dreams. They’re bad enough when he’s not sick. Now, with the delirium and the possibility that he can’t wake himself up…

He gropes in the air. After a moment he feels Cas’ hand take his. It feels cold.

“Sleep,” Cas repeats.

Dean relaxes. He doesn’t feel so hot anymore. He thinks he can sleep.

As he’s drifting off, he hears the door open and Sam’s bag thud on the floor.


End file.
